And it will come to an end
by Sharry93
Summary: How long are you willing to fight? What will you do, if there's nothinge left fighting for? What will you do, if there's no war left to fight in? What will you do, if there is nothing you can do anymore? The Winchester brothers have been fighting a futile war all their lives, but they will keep fighting, until the war will come to an end. And it will come to an end.


This is a little story I wrote during season 13 about how Supernatural might end (before I knew what Season 14 would do to us) and I just found it a few days ago while cleaning up my computer.

I'm not a native-speaker, but luckily I have a great Beta who helped me a lot.  
Still I want to improve and love concrit. So if you see anything odd, please, don't be shy ;-)

"_Would you rather get that one fish or learn how to fish?"_

The sky above him was an ocean of red flames.

"_Would you rather be saved once or learn how to save yourself?"_

The ground beneath him was crumbling.

"_But I'm scared, Dad!"_

The storm surrounding him was ice-cold, despite the fire raging on.

"_You're only scared because you don't know what to do. When you know how to fight, when you know how to save yourself and how to kill every monster, then you will never be scared again."_

Thick, hot liquid ran down his arms.

"_As long as you know what to do, you won't ever be scared of anything again, Dean."_

"Liar," he whispered to no one as he buried his head deeper. The heat of the dying body pressed against his forehead wasn't enough to soothe his aching.

"I never stopped being scared." His voice was hoarse, broken as he clenched his fingers deeper into the lifeless flesh, almost digging his forehead against the silent chest.

"I never stopped being scared of this."

There were no more tears to be cried, no more screams to be rent from his throat. There was no one left, no one but him.

The burning sky above him rumbled, but he didn't care.

It seemed like time was an illusion, like he knelt there for hours, until the blood coating his hands became dry, until the flesh pressed against his fingers grew cold and the body embraced by his arms grew stiff.

There was nobody who would come for him, not to kill him nor to place a hand on his shoulder. There was nobody who would care if he stayed like this until his body gave in. There was nobody who would care if he got up, straightened his shoulders and kept swinging.

He wouldn't give up. He _wanted_ to. There was nothing he actually wanted more than to take his colt and end his misery, but he wouldn't do that. No, he would never do that.

Because there was actually something he wanted more than this and for God's sake he would get it.

Slowly, he got back on his feet, tossed the corpse over his shoulder and walked away.

He had given enough, more than his life, more than his soul. He had given this world everything he had and more. He had given all of it for God's grand plan, for his mysterious schemes, for nothing.

And now he'd lost everything. After his childhood, his parents, his family, now he had lost the only thing left to fight for.

On the outskirts of the battlefield, at the edge of the decimated town, waited his car, covered in dusk, like it had been waiting there for years and not just mere hours.

The battle was over, they had lost. They had lost everything.

His mind was numb, functioning on simple reflexes and routines. He allowed neither thoughts nor emotions to move him, for he knew they would break him, would stop him from going on.

At some point he reached the bunker and carried his brother all the way to his bed, knowing that some years ago the situation had been reversed; then, _he_ was the one who had died, killed by an angel, and it had been on his brother to bring him back home.

This wasn't the first time one of them had died, this wasn't the first time he had lost his brother, but that only made it worse. It was one thing to lose a loved person, to lose family; he knew this feeling: it was horrible, barely endurable, sometimes unsurvivable, but it felt familiar, it felt like something he was able to shoulder.

Losing his brother had been the worst experience he could imagine. The pain was indescribable and it only got worse with practise.

The memories of the last years haunted him. How many times had he lost his brother now?

He had lost count yet remembered each moment.

The very first time, he had made a deal with a demon, but there were no demons left. Not all of them were dead yet, but the few alive were running, hiding, hoping for some kind of miracle. Ironic, really.

At least twice, Sam had been resurrected by angels, but there were none of those left either. He had been saved by archangels, but they were dead too. God's children were gone. The last of them had died just hours ago.

With no demons or angels left, Heaven and Hell were inaccessible. All that remained was this, this sorry excuse of an earth, broken and empty, with nothing to fight for anymore.

With no Heaven, he couldn't hope for his brother to be in a better place. With no Hell, he couldn't hope to finally bring peace on earth.

There was nobody left for him to reach out to. His mother had died, again. Castiel too. Every hunter or ally he had ever known was dead. Honestly, pretty much everyone he had ever known, friend or foe, they were all gone too.

But no, he hadn't lost everything for nothing. This time he wouldn't stay silent.

After he placed his brother on his bed, he headed back out to the library, found a bottle and poured himself a drink, but he didn't drink it.

He turned for the war room and started talking, not screaming his anguish, not blaming, simply talking, his eyes fixed on his glass.

"Chuck, I know you can hear me."

This wasn't the first time he reached out for God himself, but he had never answered. Since he had been reunited with his sister almost five years ago, he had vanished, assuring him and Sam that the world would be safe because they were there. But things had changed.

"You can't hide any longer. This here is your responsibility."

Yes, they had fought the supernatural, had fought demons and monsters, had even fought the devil himself. They had even won against Michael, who had actually been much more of a monster than his younger brother.

Some of those battles had been nasty, had cost a lot, but in the end they had always won.

But this time they weren't fighting the unearthly, they were fighting earth itself.

"You created this world, you created all of us, you can't just turn a blind eye."

After thousands of years being treated carelessly by ingrate humans, after being nothing more than a dump, trawled by the supernatural monsters, after being used by the angels as dispensable playground, after being left behind by its very own creator, earth had manifested all its pain, its anger, its sorrow into a single living being and it had only one goal: to kill everybody who had mistreated it.

Earth itself was more powerful than anything he had ever seen, and it was merciless.

"You told me that the world would be fine as long as we are around, that we could keep it safe."

He couldn't even blame Earth. It was right. He never cared for stuff like organic products or wholefood shops. He had thrown trash into the woods for the convenience of it. He loved meat: beef and bacon but he didn't exactly slaughter his own. He knew he deserved earth's anger.

But his brother had been different.

"You probably know what's going on. Earth's running wild and it has every reason to."

In the beginning they had hoped for a strong ally, somebody on their side, killing all evil; but Earth's definition of 'evil' had quickly twisted into anything that had ever caused it harm, even if it was nothing more than eating its grass and plants.

"I don't know what to do anymore. He's dead. It killed him."

He placed the glass on the table in front of him, running his hand through his hair before covering his face.

"You said earth would be fine. It isn't. You said we could protect it. It killed Sammy. So tell me, what am I supposed to do now?"

He couldn't help the tears.

"What am I supposed to do?"

Nothing happened and the funny thing was, he wasn't even surprised.

He didn't expect God to answer, maybe he wasn't even listening.

But God was his very last chance. If God wouldn't answer then he had no idea how to save this world, how to save anybody, but that didn't mean he wouldn't die while trying. He didn't need to survive, didn't even want to, so he would die and that was fine, but he would like it to mean something.

He dropped into a chair and whispered to the silent room: "I know we're just one of your universes, that we probably don't mean anything to you, but if there's nothing we can do, if everything would go to hell one way or another, then why did you save us over and over again? Why did you help us? Why did you act like you cared?"

Nothing.

He waited.

But nothing.

There was nothing he could do to save his brother and the only one who could didn't even give a damn, not about him, his brother, not about his children or this world. God didn't care.

After what seemed to be days, he emptied the glass in front of him before getting up, heading for his car and driving for hours. He drove until the tank was empty and then he sat there, out in the wilderness.

Above him was nothing but sky; it was supposed to be dark at this time, but instead of stars, it was broken up with sparking lines of red light, making it seem like it was about to shatter into countless pieces.

Usually this was the time where he would pray for Cass, pray for his help or simply for him to listen.

"But you're not here anymore, right?"

He huffed slightly, but his smile was a bitter thing.

"I'm sorry, buddy. We didn't make it. We really tried, but it was too strong, and Sammy..." He paused, shaking his head and taking another breath.

"This is it now, right? It's just me, me and this godforsaken world. And you know what the worst thing is? The worst thing is that even though this world sucks, even though earth itself just killed everybody I love, I still want to _save_ it."

He laughed hollow, laughing at his own pathetic hopes. It would be so much easier to just kill himself right now; one shot was all he needed, but he wouldn't do that.

"If I just knew what I could do... I don't want to let you down, I don't want to let Sammy down. All of you died for this planet, right? And now it's just me. So, what can I do? Is there anything left for me to do?"

He leaned against his car and stared at the sky, regarded how the streaks of light changed color; from red to orange and over to yellow. By now they looked like frozen lightning.

"There has to be something I can do," he whispered into the darkness. "I mean, I can't just roll over and play dead, right? Not after everything, not after so many years we tried to protect this world, not after all of you dying for it. If I'm the only one left, there has to be something I can do."

Silence answered him as he watched clouds cross the broken sky. More and more of them came slowly, covering the whole sky, covering the unnatural light. Despite the Impala's headlamps it was completely dark now.

A cold wind pulled at his jacket, urged him to go somewhere, anywhere, to run away from here.

"Hey Dean."

A single raindrop fell on his cheek as he closed his eyes and pressed his quivering lips together.

He didn't turn around, wasn't able to. Another drop hit his forehead.

"You came," he mumbled, still not turning around, still with closed eyes, almost scared that he was hallucinating.

"I never left."

The voice behind him was soft, gentle, sad.

Slowly Dean opened his eyes and stared ahead at the dark road in front of him, only enlightened by the old headlamps, sprinkled by occasional raindrops.

He didn't know what to answer, voicing his opinion was probably not the smartest idea. The last few months had been hell – quite literally – and they had been on their own. After God had disappeared with his sister, they always had been on their own. After Michael had been defeated and heaven had collapsed, they had been on their own. After they had found out Gabriel had survived and had been willing to help them, until suddenly the Michael of their world had appeared, they had been on their own. After Michael had killed Mary and Jack and was killed by Gabriel, who had sacrificed himself, they had been on their own. After Castiel had taken on the task to save Heaven almost by himself and Hell had broken open, they had been on their own. After Earth had risen and started killing, they had been on their own.

And God had been there apparently, just watching it all.

What could he possibly answer to that?

"And I never stopped listening, Dean. I never stopped caring."

He snorted slightly. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"

He still didn't turn around. It was easier to face the soft rain caught in the headlights than the being he felt so betrayed by.

"So, you're telling me that this was your great plan all along? Humanity killed by its own doing? Killed by Earth itself? Then why all of this? Why all those past years, all this suffering?"

The other one wanted to talk, but he continued.

"You know, I never stopped fighting. Even when I grew tired, even when I was so damn exhausted that I just wanted to die. Because every time Sam or Cass or you told me that we need to fight, that it was worth it, that at some point we could beat the evil of this world for good. So, I tried, I fought, I bled, and I cried. All for this shitty world."

He shook his head.

"And now they're all dead. Sammy believed in you! Till the very end he believed you would show up. Just yesterday he told me not to lose faith, and now he's dead. Why is he dead when I'm still here? What is your damn plan, man? Because I don't know anymore."

The apparent man behind him sighed deeply.

"My plan? My vision? Believe me there are no words in existence to describe what I imagine. But if you listen to me now, you might be able to see how it will turn out."

Snorting he spun around.

"Are you fucking kidding me? After all-"

Chuck lifted both arms.

"Please calm down, Dean. I am here to offer you something. I am here to correct what has gone wrong, because like you said, this world, earth, you humans, all of you are my responsibility."

It didn't reconcile him, but he stayed silent.

"What happened the last few months, that wasn't planned, at least not like this. You know free will always bears the risk of things turning out differently and humanity definitely evolved in… unexpected ways."

"Your point?" He was too tired, too beaten up to listen to meaningless babbling.

"My point is, as we talk, I am soothing the evil spirit of earth and bringing it to rest."

"You can do that?"

A subtle smile enlightened Chuck's face.

"I'm God."

"Then why did you wait until now? Why didn't you come three months ago? Last week? This morning? Sam would be alive right now!"

Only the car was between them, luckily for God.

"Because I needed to make sure you're ready."

"Ready for what?"

He didn't like the path this conversation was taking.

"For my offer."

Chuck started walking around the car slowly, carefully placing each foot.

"But beforehand, let me explain. Irrespective of your answer, this is what I will do: I will reset earth itself, put it back to sleep and revive the dead, including all angels and including all evil. So Sam, Castiel, and everybody else will live again."

His eyes started hurting. He wanted to cry, he wanted to rush back to the bunker and embrace his breathing, living brother, but right now, he wasn't, not yet. Right now, Sam was still nothing more than a dead body.

"I will wipe every single human's memory, including your brother's if you want, even your own, if that's what you desire. That will not apply to the angels, of course. It's necessary that they know what happened, so they might change."

"And why would you do that?" Dean demanded. "What's your price?"

The rain had become slightly stronger, now it was more than a gentle drizzle, but still not enough to actually bother him.

Chuck shook his head and smiled at him.

"Dean. I do this for you. For you, Sam, and every other being that fought for this world. For everybody who proved to me that there is still hope. That humanity isn't forlorn just yet. Over the last couple of months, you kept fighting a hopeless war, but you never gave up. Even now, even after you lost everything and wish for nothing more than painless death, even now you're still willing to continue. You earned a second chance and you've already paid dearly for it."

"So, no fine print?" The hunter asked, not believing one word. It sounded too good to be true.

Agreeing, Chuck shook his head again.

"No fine print. No bad side effects, no hidden trapdoor."

"Okay. Do it," he said, folding his arms.

Chuck chuckled slightly.

"I will, I promise, despite your demanding attitude."

The slight side blow didn't alert the human, there was nothing for him left to lose.

"But not right now, right?" Dean grumbled between gritted teeth, so there had been a catch after all. Why wasn't he even surprised?

Smiling gently Chuck lifted both hands in an apologizing manner.

"First, let me explain you the following. After I've reversed everything, the world will end up right here one way or another. It might be sooner, it might be later. Even with the angels' knowledge they can only influence the humans so far. Like I said: free will. And even if the demons and monsters knew, would they change? Would they turn away from their harmful behavior? Will the humans? At some point. earth will rise."

Dean gulped heavily. "So why are you doing it? Why change the past if we can't change the future?"

"Because you _can_ change it, Dean. But only if you go other ways. Only if you differ the conditions."

"How?"

Chuck turned towards the street; raindrops caught in his hair.

"Every now and then in the past I sent special humans to earth, chosen ones to protect it, to guard the world, to save humanity. I grant them everything they need to fulfil their job, no more, no less."

"Are you talking about Jesus or something?" Dean asked, frowning.

"Over the last millennia, the evil and the darkness in this world has grown," Chuck continued, not even batting an eye. "Not only the supernatural poses a threat to humanity, it's become its own enemy. So far that earth itself needed to rise, because it couldn't shoulder tha pain of so much evilness any longer."

"Okay?" Dean had still no clue where this was going.

"So, if we want to change that, if we want to stop this from happening, I think it is time to send another savior."

Dean stared at God until something clicked in his brain and he choked on his own breath.

"Are you talking about me?"

There had to be a misunderstanding.

"I am."

"Oh no!" He waved it away huffing. "I mean, I'm no messiah or whatever. I'm not even a religious person. I don't follow your rules, you know. I'm a thief and I have killed, and I like alcohol, and women, and sex before marriage, not even talking about..."

"Dean," God interrupted his babbling.

"I'm just some guy. Just some human."

The other one smiled again.

"And because you say that, because you still say that after all these years, after everything you've been through, after everything you've seen, the multiple times you've died and risen again, after fighting with angels and demons, becoming the Michael's sword, stopping the apocalypse, facing Earth itself, facing the Darkness. After everything you still see yourself as just some human and this is the very reason why it is you, Dean, why it has to be you."

"No." He shook his head. "I can't be. I'm not some savior, I'm not strong. And why _should_ I even? Why would it be _my_ job? Can't you just take somebody else? There are countless people out there seeing themselves as just average humans, take one of them!"

"There is no other, Dean. This was always meant to be your place, when you were ready. But I'm not going to force you. I can't. Nobody can force you to take on that burden. You have to take it yourself."

"Then no! Why would I?"

Chuck nodded. "To win for good?"

"What?"

"Every savior has a specific task. Every savior I sent to earth had been given one job to do, so that humanity can grow, that it can change, develop. You don't save humanity by changing the humans themselves, you simply change the conditions so that humanity itself has more time to evolve and hopefully can create a difference. But each task is unique, unlike prophets no other savior can take on your task. Because every single human is unique, and each task was especially made for each savior. So, if you decline the task I offer you, it will never be given to another savior."

"You're saying...?"

"I'm saying that your task would be to fight all unearthly evil, to hunt it down until there's nothing left. No more monsters, no more demons, no more threats to humanity except the humans themselves. With the angels reminded of their guardian responsibilities and no more unnatural evil to burden earth, it may endure longer, may last longer under the humans currents behavior."

Dean remained silent.

"And during that time the humans can change, and either they will and earth will rest while they find salvation, or..."

"Earth will rise again," Dean finished his sentence. "And then you'll send another savior?"

The man in front of him nodded.

"You see, I never left the world alone, I just gave all of you enough freedom to figure it out by yourselves."

They were silent for a moment.

"So you're saying that no matter what I do, the world will be like it was a few months ago but it will turn bad no matter what, except if I'm doing this savior-stuff?"

"No, I'm simply saying that you could be the one tiny little wheel in the machine that could save the world."

He turned away.

"What would I have to do?"

"What you are doing right now. Saving people, hunting monsters until there's nothing left to hunt and just like the flame draws in the moth the evil will come for you, no matter where you go, no matter what you do, until there is nothing left to come after you."

A cold shiver ran over his spine.

"What about Sam?"

"He could grow old, maybe he will continue hunting, maybe not. That's his choice, but he would live in a world more peaceful than ever, because you could make it better every single day. He would grow old and die happy."

"But only if I'm not too close to him, right? Because the monsters would follow me like bees round a honeypot."

God didn't reply.

"And what if I fail?"

"You won't. You were chosen for this task because it's made for you. It's written into your very DNA, into your soul. It will take time and it won't be easy, but you cannot fail."

Slowly Dean regarded the man next to him.

"But it's my choice, right, becoming your weapon or fighting earth on my own?"

Chuck smiled.

"Of course. It's all about free will, Dean. No matter your decision I will keep my promise."

They stared at each other.

"Okay then, turn time back, back before all of this started."

"You've made your decision?"

He nodded, looking at the rainy sky.

So, what I didn't say before, this here was supposed to be a multi-chaptered-fic, but after I found it I read it again and thought it should stay like that.  
Maybe that will change over time and I will add another One-Shot to the series ;-)

Thank you all for reading and I appreciate any kind of feedback.

Greetings  
Sharry


End file.
